Kenya V’s The Valley

A couple of years ago, I went to Mother Africa, back to my roots. I spent 2 weeks in Kenya, and it was bloody brilliant, mind blowing, and I loved every minute of it.

I was welcomed by people in absolute poverty, I felt secure in seeing kids being kids in the poorest of places, and made friends.

Kenya had just invaded Somalia, and the Foreign Office website stated traveling to the slums of Nairobi and most of the coast was a bad idea. So we avoided those places.

The flight was fine, and when late at night I walked into the car park in Mombasa, I could hear Paul Simon’s ‘Under African Skies’ blurring in my head. I was excited, and happily chatted away to the taxi driver who sped me to my hotel.

Half way to the hotel a car came hurdling towards us on our side of the dual carriage way, we ducked it, and carried on.

Of course, my luggage was lost, and I had a little panic about my malaria tablets not being with me, but it was easily sorted the next morning.

On the second day we set off south, towards Tanzania. We had to get down to the river, drive on to a ferry with hundreds of other people, past the sleeping security guards that dozed in the mid day sun and then across to the other side. The gates opened, the people literally legged it up the ramp before the cars and trucks set off. Last week I read that a bomb went off just where we were.

As we sped off, I was staggered by the number of businesses that lined the road. People offered us drinks, fruit, people cooked on tiny fires on the street curb, carpenters made gates, beds, all kinds on the street.

The choice was simple. Do something, or don’t eat. Do something, or don’t feed your family. The state is not going to look after you.

Never mind Silicon Valley, Boulder, Boston or NYC, Likoni-Ukunda Road is the home of enterprise.